Arkham Asylum
by rxdioactive
Summary: Gotham was never her own; no matter how many times she tried to believe it, the city never belonged to the Kensington. With insanity, and irrationality controlling the once portrayed Princess - Gotham had abandoned their hope in her redemption. Arkham, and its' King, On the other hand.. Welcomed her insanity with open arms.
1. Chapter 1

_July 17th, 12:25_

_"Patient number 5034 is still unresponsive - my name is Doctor. Crawford,"_

_"We all know you're name, Doctor. Can't we just get on with the torture?"_

_"Very well.."_

"Tell me, Annastacia. When did you first _feel _your, 'mental issues' begin?"

There it was. The question every doctor, every nurse, every _fucking _psychiatrist tried to find an answer to. And all in their foolish wisdom believed it would evolve from _her._ The 'poor little rich girl' who's parents died. They traveled through the timeline - expanding each day like it were a month in itself. And Annastacia remained uncooperative; amused as she watched the bastards pull at strings, _try _to pluck her emotions from the cold casing that hid her inner self. She did not believe in the claims of insanity - because, in her view, there was nothing _wrong _with her. She acted upon pure **i**nstinct in her freedom; the lure, the _belief, _of chance against the world. Against **Gotham. **But that enticement of 'chance' had dropped her in this shit hole - locked up like some mentally deranged _animal_, and Arkham Asylum, was the City's Zoo.

"I _could _tell you, Doc. If there were _issues _there to begin with." the woman spoke clearly; blue hues narrowing in challenge to the brewing analyst in the Doctors' brain. But, as sight connected, it created a method of unease in the Doctors' gut: a wrenching that concocted every time she set foot in _this _very room: no matter the patient.

"Isn't there, at least, a _chance _of locating the-"

"So you **b**elieve in _'chance'?_"

"Don't you, Annastacia? I read your file, and the reports say that you based your killings.. On _Chance._"

A scoff emulated from the patients' throat, followed by a trickle of poisoned laughter. "Then you need to finalize that **rough draft **in your hands, Doctor. My _killings, _as you so call them, were not of _chance, _but of _choice._ You see the difference? **C**hoice, is something you voluntarily make; like the choice my parents made the night they died. **C**hance, on the other hand, is how the world plays your cards. Like, the chances of my parents _dying _that night on the _cold, icy road_.. High. The chances of a robbery happening in gotham city's streets.. High.

**- **The chances of, **next time**, you getting out of this room alive?

**_Slim._**"

The Doctor narrowed her eyes, mirroring the image that she faced in Annastacia.

"Are you.. _Threatening _me?"

"Oh no, Doctor. Threatening concludes that I won't _physically _do anything. No, that was a _promise._"

Annastacia jerked forward, and a gasp hitched in the Doctors' throat, all the while a maniacal laugh swirling through the atmosphere of the pokey, closet of a room. Raising to her feet with an instant burst of survival, the Doctor spun dramatically and proceeded to the door, while Annastacia remained perfectly perched against her metal seat. The sound of locks from the other side alerted the woman that her cell would welcome her shortly; and her hands twitched in the wrap that prevented her movements. "Till next time, **Doc**." her voice mewled to the other woman, who had become so obviously flustered with fear and panic - allowing the _promise _to haunt her coherency.

"We're done." the Doctor stated emptily, and with those two words, a pair of guards invaded the musky room; the stench of insanity molesting the air the surrounded Annastacia's self. If it had not been for the dirty-white restraints, she would have looked.. _Normal. _Looked like the girl that conquered Billboards and Magazines before her business lunged to hell. But it was her laugh; the shrill pitch that reminded everyone that she _wasn't _innocent. Not anymore.

The blue sparks at the end of the bar in one guards' hand caught her interest, and even though the laughing continued - the area soon fell into eerie silence; cascading in black.

* * *

A husked moan stifled from the limp body that was being dragged through the asylum walkways; banging and cheering from the other inmates signified her returning welcome amongst her equally _creative _people - all here because Society deems them _unfit _for purpose. Society was the crazy one here, _**not them.**_Her shoulders shook with the development of laughter, a guard tugging harshly at her arm as he tossed the female back into her display; and instantly, she swung round; hands gripped upon the bars as knuckles turned white - a devious nature in her eye as the widely stared. "Was I no fun?" she asked, voice trickled with feign amusement; but the guard refused to retaliate; to feed her with a response. Instead, he processed to lock her cell and prohibit escape - even though the main control area assured of that.

And as she watched them back up; her ears perked at the pitching in through their dusty intercoms. "_We've got him. The Joker's coming in._"

Excitement bubbled in her core; a casting of delight crossing her features - knowing that she was about to witness one of the _greatest _images in Gotham's History.

**The capture of The Joker.**


	2. Chapter 2

But she knew to expect more from The Joker than a feeble surrender. That _wasn't his game. _Though, a personal encounter with the psychotic madman had never been on the cards for Annastacia, she had read enough reports, watched enough televised documentaries about this man to know that this _simple _capture, was _too simple_. But, her words would not express her entertained thoughts; why would she? **O**ffer an opinion that would be blatantly ignored because of her structural class. Which was irony in itself - given that she could buy and sell these Ass-Kissers five times over, and _still _have enough to economically support at least half of Gotham: the other half coming from the tight-fisted grip of Bruce Wayne.

That too, was a spanner in her raging works. The little Billionaire boy, had _witnessed _his parents death right before his eyes; and the sympathy lie on his doorstep. A 'traumatic experience' for a young boy to go through - and yet, a few years down the line, the same concept of events happen; only this time, there was no guns, no criminals. Only nature, and the dangers of the cold. _But, _where had Gotham been when _she _needed them? They had been crying over the loss of the Kensington welfare! They didn't give a single **damn **about the crumbling world of the young girl who had been left alone on New Years' Eve. And even after all this time, not a year has past that Annastacia didn't think about her parents. T

hey wanted to call her insane?

Annastacia was _**Broken.**_

The scraping of metal mechanics corrupted her ears, but faded out to the delirious screeching of laughter that drowned the annoyance; and to the sound, her heart fluttered - a mixture of nerves, fear and excitement corrupting her human system. Wide eyes watched with fascination as the flock of bodies slowly wheeled by; Guards, a Doctor, _Batman, _and in all glorified presence, _**The Joker.**_Strapped and chained to prohibit even a meager _chance _of escaping, but the physical deny did not prevent him from spewing amused, sarcastic comments to each individual that surrounded him; and she could practically _smell _their unease. The only calm being was the Bat, and even to an extent she could sense his weary underlying. And it was all too acceptable. This _is _the Joker, after all. The most destructive terrorist that Gotham has ever faced; fallen unstoppable on so many accounts that the city failed to see an end - failed in their hopes of him _ever _being caught, and even began failing in their beliefs of _Batman. _

Ah, but here _he _was: smothered in his pride at _finally _catching and reprimanding the Gotham Menace. But for how long? The Joker's mind had more twists and turns and hide-aways that Gotham and Arkham combined. He had a full alphabet of plans lined up if A didn't work, and then proceeded through the list of endless numbers, should 26 plans _not _be enough. He was.. Maniacal. He was.. Genius. He was..

"_You're druelling, Doll face._"

**_Perfect._**

She felt his stare; hard against the phased female that watched like a shocked fanatic at finally seeing their idolized performer. But that's what Joker was. A _Performer. _Given, the performances weren't exactly 'Child-Friendly' material, there could still be classed as such. _Live performances _that shook Gothams' streets.. **Literally. **She _idolized him._

Motioning back, her vice-like hands eased from their grips on the metal bars that barricaded her from her desired aspiration. She would fall into the temptation of freeing him; slaughtering the guards and watching with desire as he _ended _the rodent. It was an image perfectly placed in her head; and by the expression she noticed on the Clown's face, he knew _exactly _what had spiraled through her proclaimed _fucked up _thoughts.

"All in good time, sweetheart. This is just the opening act-"

words were cut by a sharp back hand against the Jokers' jaw, and even with the sting of it, the man still exposed a pitching laugh. "A hush hush would have been accepted, y'know."

Annastacia stifled a giggle, biting her tongue to prevent the sound - not unless she wanted a force brought upon her the same as the joker had; and she watched as they began to wheel him down the aisle; threats and profanities being thrown at Batman, while others celebrated the Joker's arrival with whistles and cheers. All the while, the guards cast worried looks back towards her cell - the interaction between her and Joker created belief in their heads, that the two had _some kind _of connection, but other than the equal belief of their insanity - there was no common ground between Annastacia and the Joker. Sure, names would be known through public identity; reasons to being here? Sure. But an interaction with the Joker? That had been her first. And with him here; and that eerie smile spread for ear to ear on his face - she doubted, highly, that it would be her last.


End file.
